


Laying Low

by EvilBecky



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, In Hiding, Roommates, So Married, after shield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:32:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilBecky/pseuds/EvilBecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Black Widow told Steve Rogers that she was going to be 'laying low for a while' there were a few scenarios that played through his mind: a cabin in the middle of the woods, an outpost in Russia, an abandoned warehouse, an apartment under some assumed identity. But where she really went is much better than all of the above. She is with someone she trusts with all her life. She is safe and warm and welcome. It is like a second home to her.</p><p>And it gets free cable!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laying Low

**Author's Note:**

> **This particular work was written well before I saw Age of Ultron and, therefore, I had no knowledge of Clint's family or his farm house. However, I love this little mini-fic so I'm keeping it the way it is and be damned with the naysayers! My ship has suffered enough damage...**

No one knew where Clint Barton lived, not even Director Fury. On his file at SHIELD he had put down an old apartment that he had shared with three other guys back in his early days. If anyone were to go there now, they would find nothing but an abandoned building with rotted windows and perhaps a squatter or two. The only one who knew where he lived was Natasha. So it really wasn’t too much of a shock when she showed up at his door the day after SHIELD fell. 

Clint’s actual apartment was a loft with plenty of windows facing out to the city. He liked being able to see all around him, even in his own house. In other peoples’ places he always felt confined and trapped but here he felt the safest. It was quiet and peaceful and clean…well, it used to be clean.

Natasha made an extraordinary mess for one woman. Within a week she had accumulated more trash than Clint did in a month. And she left it everywhere. Candy wrappers in the couch cushions, dirty laundry strewn on the bathroom floor, and the garbage can overflowing with empty cereal boxes…God, that woman ate so much cereal! It was a wonder she didn’t weigh 400 pounds. She would gobble down handfuls of the sugary stuff as she watched hour upon hour of crappy television. Within two weeks Clint had bought enough milk to single handedly keep the dairy farmers of America in business.

Not that he could be too angry at Natasha. She was just coping. She wasn’t the type to cry or sulk when she had a problem. She acted as though her only way of life had not just been wiped completely off the face of the Earth. She didn’t look like a woman who was wanted by just about every branch of the government for so many crimes that it was mind boggling. She looked calm, almost uncaring as she continued to live off the same couch cushion until it lay flatter than a pancake.

It reminded him of the day he first met her; of the day he brought her into SHIELD in cuffs and set her in the interrogation room, chained to the metal table. She looked at the two-way mirror exactly the same way that she looked at Clint’s television; almost daring it to do something. Clint would sometimes sit on the balcony and watch her from the big windows at the way she would curl her long, slender legs up to her and cock her eyebrow up at a particularly interesting part of her show. She really was fascinating to watch. Even if she was a complete mess. 

Speaking of which….

Clint came home from his jog and immediately stepped on a wad of paper. He looked up at the mess that his living room had become and sighed. Natasha, heavily interested in the episode of America’s Next Top Model, didn’t even look up when he walked in. She just chewed on her mouthful of potatoes chips and muttered “Hey.” to him. Today she was in top form, wearing a baggy tee shirt of Clint’s that she now claimed as her own and a pair of grey leggings. How a woman could look so stunning while wearing the most unflattering of outfits was a mystery that would likely never be solved.

Sighing, Clint bent down and starting picking up some of the trash that his reluctant roommate had left behind in her wake. He moved to the bathroom to take his shower but cursed loudly. There weren’t any clean towels. And sitting in the cabinet where his crisp, white towels usually were was a crumbled up pair of Natasha’s underwear and a handwritten note by the culprit herself. 

‘We’re out of towels.’

Letting out yet another long sound of frustration, Clint gathered up an armful of towels and went about throwing them into the washing machine. As the machine churned and bubbled into life, he looked over at Natasha who literally hadn’t moved a muscle since Tyra started naming off the girls moving onto the next round. As the aforementioned super model stood with but one photo in her hand, Clint moved into the living room with his hands on his hips.

“When are you leaving?”

It wasn’t a command. And it wasn’t a serious question. It was his way of asking her if she was alright. It was a part of their own secret language they had developed on their missions together. No one at SHIELD was sure what their relationship was nor would they ever know for certain. Hawkeye and Black Widow were spies, even between each other. They were far too set in their ways to let emotions get in the way of what needed to be done. However, there were moments, like this one, where they let each other know exactly what was on their minds. Clint wasn’t talking to Black Widow. He was talking to his friend; Natasha.

She turned her head, her face as unreadable as the beautiful hostess on the television. She let her eyes look him up and down, her mouth moving, lips closed, as she crunched on the potato chips in her mouth. Finally, she turned back to the TV in time to see who made it on. As the little red headed girl celebrated her victory, Natasha answered in a way that let Clint know that she was alright.

“When are you getting more Lucky Charms?”


End file.
